


Blood and Paperwork

by ArgentSleeper



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 14:37:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4670345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentSleeper/pseuds/ArgentSleeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwaine is not an evil man.  Except when he is.</p><p>Or isn't, as the case may be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood and Paperwork

**Author's Note:**

> This summer has been far from the best for me, but I am slowly working myself back to as normal as I can get. This is the first thing I've written in months, so I apologize if I've grown a bit rusty. Thank you so much to Polomonkey for advising me to find some goofy fics, rowanbrandybuck for responding to my plea for a happyfluffy prompt and to the5leggedcricket for slashing my endless spaces and sneaking in as many giant (sorry, "adult") em-dashes as you could.
> 
> For my Bingo square "Curtain Fic"

 

 

Gwaine was not an evil man.  No, really, he wasn’t.  Okay, not in general anyway.  It was just that sometimes problems occurred, and those problems required a solution, and on occasion the path to said solution just happened to allow for some entertainment on his behalf.

And if wanting to be entertained made him evil, well then Gwaine would feel no regret on his way to Hell.

Step one of his plan went swimmingly, which was fortunate since it was one of several that Gwaine couldn’t actually control.  Merlin arrived ten minutes early for his first day on the job, uniform pressed and pristine in a way that it wouldn’t be by their second stop.  His friend tugged nervously at his cuffs, eying the bin lorry nervously.

“Ready to dive in and become a binman?”  Gwaine slapped him heartily on the back, nearly tipping Merlin over.

Merlin audibly gulped, and Gwaine couldn’t help but let his grin grow bigger in amusement.  “Look, Gwaine.  It’s not that I don’t appreciate you getting me this job, really I do, but...”  He trailed off with a frown.

“Merlin, I promise, I’m not going to allow you to be crushed by the compactor.  Not only would it take me ages to clean up all that blood, but it would be way too much paperwork.  Honestly, I’d rather avoid the hassle if I can.”

Merlin huffed a laugh, though he only looked slightly reassured.

Gwaine clapped his hands together loudly.  “Okay then.  The first thing we need to do is check that the lorry is ready to go.”

Merlin was a quick learner as Gwaine walked him through the morning checklist.  Gwaine had to chuckle when he stared at the emergency stop button for the compactor like it was made of gold.  By the time they were finished however, they were already running ten minutes behind.  Not a good omen for the rest of Gwaine’s plan.

“Time to get on the road, my friend.  Those wheelie bins won’t collect themselves.”

Step two complete.

It wasn’t long before Merlin figured out what Gwaine had learned himself ages ago: being a binman was much more difficult than it looked.  Where Gwaine had been fit enough before he started, the lean muscles in his arms built up enough that he hardly noticed the weight of the bins anymore, Merlin was still scrawny, more used to holding a paintbrush rather than a half dozen stone of refuse.  Then there was the smell, the bins knocked over in the night and spilled across the lawn, the hints of items you didn’t even want to _guess_ the real identities of.

“Did I thank you yet for getting me this job?”  Merlin collapsed back into the lorry, looking utterly exhausted despite still having another quarter of the route to go.  “Remind me not to.”

“Chin up, mate.  I promise, the best is yet to come.”

Merlin groaned.  “Oh joy.”

It was finally time for Gwaine to implement step three.  As he directed the lorry towards his favourite stop on the route, he risked a glance at his watch.  They were right on time.

Really, the whole potentially evil plan thing was all Merlin’s fault to begin with.  Gwaine had been trying to do a nice thing, taking his friend out to celebrate at the club.  He had figured a few (dozen) drinks and a couple ~~hours~~ minutes on the dancefloor were just what Merlin needed to forget that he was 25, broke, and reduced to picking up rubbish for a living.  Gwaine had even been thrilled to see that fate had somehow brought his closest friend and his oldest friend together and that they were snogging the living daylights out of each other over in the corner.

What Gwaine had not counted on was Merlin’s intolerance for tequila leading him to vomit in the toilet instead of going home with said snogging partner.  Which was what Gwaine was reduced to calling him, as Merlin had never learned his name.

( _“We just sort of…_ forgot _that part.”_ )

Lucky for Merlin, Gwaine just happened to know the snogging partner’s name, address, and how much he’d cried when he was six and his cat Princess Mitzi had died.

“We collect bins _here_?”  Merlin’s eyes bugged out as he saw the gargantuan mansion they’d pulled up to.  “I thought prats like this must have their own landfills.”

Gwaine rolled his eyes.  “Mr Pendragon probably believes he does, but in the end rubbish is rubbish whether it once touched a silver spoon or not.”

“Well, he doesn’t have any bins out for us.  Does he expect us to come up to the house for them?”

“Nah, someone always brings them out, but he has a bit of a habit of running late.”  Gwaine snuck another peek at his watch.  Countdown to step four in three, two, one…

From around the side of the mansion a young man appeared, shuffling towards them as quickly as he could manage with a wheelie bin knocking at his heels.  Gwaine stuffed a fist in his mouth to stifle his laughter at the sight.  The man wore a frilly pink bathrobe—clearly borrowed from his sister, judging by the way it ended at his knees—and his signature orange cat slippers, complete with fluffy tails.

Merlin stared bug-eyed as the man stopped beside the lorry, puffing slightly from his exertion.  The man lifted his head to peer at them, and Merlin’s jaw dropped open.

“Well then?  Do your job, mate.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Merlin squeaked.

“Blood and paperwork.” Gwaine shook his head in mock sorrow.  “Blood and paperwork.”

“I’m a binman.  He’s got silver spoons and I’m a _binman_.”

“Silver spoons and cat slippers,” Gwaine pointed out.  “I think you’re on equal footing at the moment, mate.  And if you’re still worried, I should mention that those things actually _meow_ when he walks.”

Merlin opened his door with obvious reluctance and stepped out.  The man, also known as Arthur Pendragon, heir apparent to Camelot Industries, blushed a furious pink to match his robe and looked as ready to flee as Merlin did.

“Hello…”—Arthur glanced at his embroidered name tag—“Merlin.”

“And you’re…you,” Merlin stammered back.

“And I’m Gwaine.”  He beamed, then got out to toss the contents of Arthur’s bin in the back of the lorry.  “You’re welcome.”

“You’ll pardon me if I don’t thank you,” Arthur snapped, though it lost a bit of its edge when one considered the growing besottedness in his eyes.

“That seems to be going around today,” Gwaine huffed, feigning offence.  “See if I let Merlin bung off early so you two can make out after all.”

“Thank you, Gwaine,” Merlin chimed immediately, not taking his gaze off Arthur.

“Whatever.”  Arthur winced as Merlin stamped on his slippered foot.  “I mean thanks, I think.”

Gwaine hopped back in his lorry, patting himself on the back for a job well done.  See, he wasn’t evil, not at all.

 

 


End file.
